His heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. How exciting! How thrilling!

Elliot hadn't fought in a real battle before. He'd killed, of course, Every doppelganger needed to do so to get any use out of their abilities. But a real fight? No, never.

He was irritated and making his way towards being furious at the beginning of the battle. Enraged at the terrible waste of it all.

His clerics were dying left and right for little gain. All because that snake hadn't chosen to tell him critical information that those he was hunting were armed. Had he known, he would have brought more men in better armor.

But the fury danced away from his mind, replaced with terrible excitement.

He wasn't one to seek the intoxication of battle, but with a giant terrifying Drakon trying and failing to rip him to pieces? Failing only because of his deity's blessings?

Even despite the temporary pain of the quickly healing wounds, the experience was delightful. The feeling of power. Watching this pathetic creature foam at the mouth and claw at him like the animal it truly was? He shivered with glee. It was a terrible pleasant sensation.

He could feel his Favor draining quickly under the strain of the spell. It was one of his most potent divine spells to cast and maintain.

But very much worth it as the Drakon paced around him, like a stupid dog unsure of how to attack a needle-rat.

The fight was turning to his benefit. His little suggestion that fighting might not be worth it was throwing his enemies into a tailspin. They didn't really want to fight. Humans seldom did; adorable little prey that they were, so why should they?

Of course, the fact that his men did want to fight and had cut down four or so of the Drakon’s pets in their confused state wasn't really Elliot's problem.

Ah, a suggestion was a demanding spell to learn, but it had come naturally to the doppelganger. Still, if Elliot had begun the battle with it, trying to shake their resolve before blades were drawn? It would have been a waste of power. Minds set for combat and even laying an ambush? No, he'd have found no chink in their mental defenses.

But now they were weakened by magic, afraid, and amid a confusing battle? They were like sheep before a wolf. If only the Drakon hadn't warned them, which he was sure they had, he might have been able to control the panicked people outright.

He couldn't stop a frown, however. While it had worked- to beat an example to death, the sheep were making a showing more akin to rams.

With the power he'd poured into it, the suggestion should have been more effective then it was.

But his ex-prisoners who'd been 'rescued' by the Drakon duo- 'rescued' to only end up dying here instead of the shrine, of course. He could feel it off them, a fierce heat. His ex-prisoners were far angrier and battle happy they'd he'd have expected caravaners and their guards to be. And better equipped too- damn that Natzsa.

He suspected the cause of the anger was the Drakon foaming at the mouth in front of him. He could feel the waves of red hot rage against his psyche with his empathic abilities. And while it didn't benefit him, he was sure it gave the Drakons allies a terrifyingly narrowed and focused rage against Elliot and his men.

It was funny how everyone seemed to hate when doppelgangers messed with their minds. But were perfectly fine with any paladin or spellcaster mixing their emotions like an alchemist fire.

It wouldn't matter, but the doppelganger shook his head with a feeling reminiscent of pity. If he kept this up, his new pets would turn against him in time, one couldn't inspire such rage magically without fear of it being turned against them.

The Drakon swiped with its talons at Elliot, as if it were testing that the spell was still there. Elliot stepped into the blow, to make sure it cut deep.

The Drakon snarled and retreated as the wound dealt upon Elliot closed. A mirror of it opened across the Drakon's torso.

It was growing wise to his games, feeling wounds form on itself that reflected its strikes. Now it was calming down and beginning to analyze the situation.

Elliot couldn't have that.

"Prepare a coffin, drive in the nail. Break them down, make them frail." Elliot grimaced when he spoke the words, as recasting the spell meant shifting it away from the humans it was effecting. Still, the Drakon was the more deadly of the two options. And Elliot suspected its allies would fall apart and scatter when it and its sibling were brought down.

He spared half a moment to acknowledge his reservoir of Favor and his grimace tightened. He had three spells draining it, all fighting for fuel to keep going.

He looked to the Drakon, who was now both sickened and weakened. A pair of spells that combined should have made it unable to function at worst or killed it outright at best.

Instead, it stumbled around like a drunkard and was slowly straightening back up, doubtlessly to try to attack Elliot once more.

Elliot checked his remaining Favor once more and decided he should finish this battle quickly, there was another Drakon, after all. He could play with that one.

Elliot drew a Warhammer that had been hanging from his side- he'd gotten it just for this fight, and with a grunt, swung out at the Drakon.

The weapon struck into its side, after which he quickly raised it up, and brought it down on the creature.

It stepped left, managing to take the blow onto its shoulder, instead of its head, which Elliot had been aiming for.

Despite this, Elliot smiled. There had been a moment there- at the very beginning of the fight, that his men had doubted him, despite all his work to enthrall them.

But now with him on the field of battle? With the enemy confused and disorientated as soon as he arrived, and the flow of action changing as a result?

And finally, with him about to personally slay a dangerous Drakon paladin with his own hands? He doubted he'd even need to bother to enhance his commands with magic ever again with this group. Particularly the orcs, they'd worship him as assuredly as they worshipped Virion after this. Maybe even more than Virion.

He fought to keep his humble smile from turning into a grin. Still, he couldn't help but gloat a bit.

"What did you expect, heathen?" he struck out, slamming his Warhammer into the Drakon's jaw, who stumbled to the side from the force of the blow and fell.

"Did you think to stand before the might of Virion and his Chosen?" He brought the hammer down onto the small of the Drakon's back.

The Drakon rolled to the side, but far too slowly to dodge the third slam of the hammer into its side.

Elliot's facade of a humble and godly man crumpled. A smirk split Elliot's face despite his efforts as he looked down at the physical powerhouse that was the creature beneath him; made powerless by his and Virion's combined might.

Still, he consoled himself, if there was anything to grin about, it was striking down a heathen with a hammer.

The force of the blows actually hurt his wrist. He could manage a bit of pain, knowing it was dealing far more to this pathetic overgrown lizard.

He placed his boot on the dazed creature's chest and spoke in a tone filled with mirth. "Oaths are worthless, faith is the only true measure of a man. The faith he puts in his deity and the faith his deity puts into him. I trust Virion implicitly and he trusts me. Can you say the same for your gods? One whose two heads pull it in two directions, and thus going nowhere? or the other who cares only to rule, to which you are but a pawn?"

He raised the hammer up.

—-

Edrik brought the ax down onto the creature's head.

He was disappointed. He'd expected more fight from the little thing.

A vague sense of sympathy for the small little thing welled up in his chest, but he pushed it down. Despite the lack of challenge, he'd still found the fight fun, and he wouldn't soil that by feeling sympathy for a monster.

He turned, after retrieving his arrows from the corpse and forest.

He spared half a thought for the once-woman's corpse, and spoke out. "May Tavig judge you well." before turning and heading back into the forest to follow where his compass was taking him next.

He always followed his compass.

—-

Asgar struggled to his feet, looking at the devastating wound to his shoulder.

His arm hung limply at his side, and he noted in a dulled, demoralized haze that the wound would never heal right. He'd never gain full control of his arm back, supposing that the injury didn't kill him from blood loss or infection, of course.

He felt a spike of pain from his back and knew he'd been stabbed by a spear once more.

Before he could turn and punish the human who attacked him, the orc accosting him from the front leaped forward and swung at him.

Like the last five strikes, he caught the club with his shield and then again felt a spike of pain from his back as the human took advantage of the opportunities the orc kept creating.

If only he could get his leg to work, every time he tried to rush forward to assault the orc or turn to punish the human behind him, his leg would give out. He'd have to quickly get back to his feet or be stabbed by the spear and have a club brought down on his head at once.

Another spike of pain as the spear stabbed into him. Thankfully, his back had not been targeted in the previous battles. Otherwise, there would have been no scales to protect him; scales he was losing as the fight progressed.

An overhead smash from the orc and Asgar had just about enough.

He released his grip on his shield, letting it fall a handful of inches before catching the shield's rim. He turned, spinning on his good leg, and with a grunt threw the shield as hard as he could from the awkward position he was in at the human cleric.

It slammed into the man, cracking and breaking ribs, and causing him to explosively exhale the air from his lungs. The strike lifted him into the air, throwing him back a dozen steps from the force of the Oath enhanced attack.

Asgar turned his head back to the orc, who, to its credit, rushed forward and swung its club at him.

Asgar couldn't dodge in time and took the strike to the side, forcing his weight onto his crippled leg. He fell with a yelp through gritted teeth.

The orc closed in on top of him, preparing to swing the club down. Asgar responded by kicking out with his good leg into the orc's, sending the green skin down to the earth beside him with a resounding thud.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Asgar lashed out with his talons into the prone orcs side, using them to drag the orc closer to him, carving terrible wounds down its side as he did.

The orc objected in the only manner it could and cracked Asgar in the side once more, immediately pulling the club back for yet another strike.

Asgar pulled himself over the orc, and as the club smashed into his side for the second time, he darted down and bit the neck of the orc and shook.

Flesh tore, ruptured veins spewed out blood as Asgar pulled back, a chunk of green meat viced between his teeth.

The orc gurgled and struck Asgar in the side twice more, though the blows lacked their original power. Before it finally went still with a wet wheezing sound.

Asgar pushed himself into a sitting position, panting, and looking out over the battle to see what had changed.

His allies were scattered or dead. The few remaining clerics- maybe five altogether, were pushing the offensive. The zombies were evenly split to each cleric and followed their commands as extensions of themselves.

Sol was presently corralled by three spiritual shields, all of which were beginning to flicker as the clerics who made them ran out of Favor to supply them.

Sol looked ragged, like he'd been beaten with sticks for the last minute or two, or shields. Perhaps he had, it explained why he hadn't been throwing his rays of heat across the battlefield.

Asgar bit back a curse, they'd been winning at the start, but it all went wrong as soon as they'd come within melee range of the orcs. While he and his brother could match their strength, these humans couldn't, and only the elf-kin guards could hope to fight man to man and survive. Bridging the gap with reach, skill, and he and his brother's Auras.

He heard a pompous voice. "Oaths are worthless, faith is the only true measure of a man. The faith he puts in his deity and the faith his deity puts into him. I trust Virion implicitly and he trusts me. Can you say the same for your gods? One whose two heads pull it in two directions, and thus going nowhere? Or the other who cares only to rule, to which you are but a pawn?"

Asgar turned and quickly scrambled to his feet. He saw the figure of Father Elliot standing over his brother's prone form, hammer in hand.

He didn't even make it to his feet before the hammer came down with a crack. He did make it, however, before it came up the second time.

He pulled at his Mantle, and leaped off his still functioning leg, throwing himself bodily at Father Elliot.

The two went down, the air knocked from Asgar's lungs as he felt the impact twice over, both the force of him hitting Elliot. And thanks to the clerics spell, the force of Elliot being hit by him.

Thankfully, even if Elliot wasn't injured by the impact, he was still knocked over by it.

"Get off me!" Asgar felt the hammer slam into his side as Elliot objected both verbally and physically. The Drakon half-consciously acknowledged that Elliot's strikes weren't very powerful at all. At least, when compared to the orc who'd been raining blows on Asgar not seconds ago.

Asgar spotted the hammer move to strike down on him once more and reached out, catching the weapon with his unwounded arm.

He tugged once more, on both his Mantle and the weapon, pulling the hammer free from Elliot's hand. And promptly threw the Warhammer over his shoulder to be rid of it.

Elliot scowled and began to call out a chant. "In reality, my will, I insist, let me move- Mm!"

Asgar interrupted the chant by covering Elliot's nose and mouth with his hand, before shifting himself upward and putting his knee into the cleric's chest.

He glanced to his side, looking at the barely moving form of his brother, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Argus wasn't dead, though he looked terrible. Covered in burns from his own Oath, and with more patches of skin devoid of scales then otherwise. He looked sickly and starved and seemed to be dancing in and out of consciousness.

Asgar turned his head back to look down at the man he was holding captive. "What did you do to him?"

Elliot was unable to answer and wouldn't have even if he could have. Instead, he slammed his fists into the arm, currently keeping him from speaking like a child in the middle of a tantrum.

Asgar jerked Elliot's head upward, and just like he had moments before, prepared to lung down and rip his throat open.

"Asgar! Don't attack him! He's under the effects of a spell; you'll just take the wounds for him!"

Asgar turned his head to where the voice had come and saw the bloodied and bruised Sol approaching him. The shields holding him captive gone now that they had taxed their creators allotted Favor beyond its abilities.

He twisted his head around, looking over the battle. It was starting to swing back to his side's advantage now that enemy clerics were running out of divine Favor to power their spells.

He moved his knee and lifted his captive into the air, feeling the pressure of his own grip and on his head.

This bizarre spell that Elliot was under made Asgar's head hurt. It didn't make sense. How was he feeling the force of his own grip, while using that same force to move Elliot around?

He shook the non-sequitur from his mind just as he shook Elliot, now hanging above the ground and held aloft by his head as he vainly struggled at the Drakon. His focus was slipping away, and Gods above, he just wanted to sleep.

Instead, he stood up straight, and after lifting the human up so that his feet dangled from the ground, and his neck was level with Asgar's mouth. The Drakon reversed the effect his Oath was having on the open flames surrounding the camp-turned-battlefield.

The flames darkened, first, back to the amount of light one would expect from an open fire, and then even darker. Pulling on his Mantle once more to turn the flames black and thrusting them all into darkness. As if the campfire had suddenly been covered by a blanket. He heard people yelp from the sudden darkness.

Then, with a tug on his Mantle, he reversed the effect once again. Bathing the camp in bright light once more and calling out in a loud voice. "I have your leader, Father Elliot. Surrender!"

The battle, already slowing due to the confusion caused by the rapidly changing light, froze.

The enemy force had been significantly depleted, only Four enemy clerics and a half dozen zombies remained. Furthermore, three of the clerics were humans and fourth, an orc. Six zombies were still standing, undamaged enough to continue function, and flanked their delegated masters, obeying their commands and guarding them. The remnants should not have been an intimidating force.

But Asgar's side had suffered as well. The caravaneers had gotten off lighter than their elf-kin guards, for he didn't see any of their corpses littering the ground. Neither, however, could he count their number in full, some were missing. He knew not where they had gone.

But the guards, half of their number had been laid low, maybe more. Having ended up skirmishing man to man with the clerics themselves. In this, the advantage of magic, coupled with superior equipment, made itself evident.

Asgar looked down at Elliot and felt a fit of growing anger, both at the man, and himself. Had this doppelganger been a better strategist, there easily could have been no survivors of those Asgar had tried to protect. He looked up to the corpses and bit back a lump in his throat. The battle was not over, he would have to save grief for later. He felt he had tried and failed.

The two forces retreated from their respective battles in miniature. Once clear, they turned to put their eyes on Asgar and his captive.

Elliot flailed all the more in his grasp, and he replied by shaking the man once again, and holding him more tightly, keeping him from speaking.

For this bluff to work, Elliot's followers needed to believe that their leader was at Asgar's mercy, and not under the protection of his infernal spell.

His mercy, Asgar looked down at Elliot with barely contained fury. The Drakon shook his head. No, It wasn't anger, hate. He saw all the death caused this night. Then looked at his own body and his brother’s who shared gruesome wounds that were unlikely to ever fully heal.

He was sure Natzsa had some blame to receive, perhaps even most of it. But she was not here. Elliot was. And whether or not the necromancer was chiefly at fault, such thoughts did very little to endear his flailing captive to him.

Asgar didn't think he'd hated anyone before, not the orcs that his tribe would skirmish with on occasion or the occasional frost giant.

He'd hadn't hated the undead who'd killed Dara, nor Singard when he'd stolen from him. He'd hadn't even hated the orc who'd driven a polearm blade first into his shoulder moments ago, nor the one who'd hunted his brother and him in the night, an event that felt like it had happened years ago.

But Natsza? And Father Elliot by extension? Dealers of death and sacrifice, using their people and each other like pawns?

He hated them.

Asgar panted, his breath coming out like cones of fog falling to the earth like a blanket as warm air rose to replace it. He had to look like he was in control, but he entirely understood why his brother had gone into a rage.

His eyes went back to the prone form of Reece, and they narrowed.

These humans were his. They were his to protect. And this filthy, skin stealing thing had taken them, stolen them from him.

Some small, old part was waking up in the Paladin, something Draconic.

A piercing pain rocked Asgar from his thoughts, and he noticed he'd been driving his talons into Elliot's skin.

Elliot's flesh tried to close around his talons, pushing at the Drakon claws and mirrors to the wounds formed on Asgar's face.

He left his talons in the man. The pain would keep his mind clear, and he admitted to himself, he rather liked to see the man shake, in what he could only assume to be pain.

Elliot was panicking, this Drakon shouldn't be able to do this to him. Why wasn't he let go? And he could feel a terrible cold emanating from the Drakon. Unlike the emotional heat of its kin's Oath, this cold didn't prick at the back of his mind. But it raised the hairs on the back of his stolen neck.

"Did I not tell you all to surrender? Drop your weapons and flee."

The clerics hesitated, looking to their restrained leader, who shook his head as much as possible. Pained and panicked, he might have been, but Elliot was no fool. Soon his spell would end, and nothing would stop the Drakon from killing him.

He could already feel his Favor being burned away as the battleground slowed to a halt, such an expensive spell wasn't built to last through a standoff.

One of the clerics made to move forward as Asgar spoke again. "You are outnumbered and out of Favor. If you continue to fight us, you will die."

The clerics hesitated and looked around themselves.

While the zombies bolstered their numbers, Asgar's side had the numerical advantage when it came to the living.

Six of the red-skinned traders and another six elf-kin guards were beginning to form a half-circle around the clerics, stirred into motion by Asgar pointing out the advantage they had, leveling spears at their now grouped up enemies.

And unlike the juggernaut orcs, most of the remaining enemy clerics were humans themselves and only had the advantage of their equipment to stack up against the effects of two paladins auras.

Even the singular remaining orcish cleric looked hesitant, staring down Sol in particular. Clearly unsure whether or not the Soltris worshipper still had any favor left to call on.

One of the human clerics squinted at the Drakon, shifting the grip on his sword. "How can we be certain that you'll spare him?"

"You can't." Asgar immediately shot back. Shifting his grip to cover Elliot's nose with his hand and his mouth, he pressed Elliot's head into his chest, cutting off the cleric's flow of air.

Asgar never broke eye contact with the lead most cleric, but he had quickly shut down a wave of surprise from showing on his face.

He had expected when he covered Elliot's mouth that he wouldn't be able to breathe, but he continued to do so normally. More than that, he felt the cleric still.

Asgar didn't struggle against the victorious grin as it split his face. "Got you." He spoke to Elliot, just loud enough to be heard by the doppelganger.

The spell didn't protect him from suffocation or didn't seem to so far as Asgar could tell. A weakness.

Elliot's clerics looked to each other before as a group, they began to retreat. Backward, weapons at the ready, and pointed at Asgar and his allies as they did so.

"I said, drop them."

They froze, looked to the Drakon, and perhaps misreading the fear on their leader's face, grimaced, and dropped their weapons.

The four clerics quickly ran into the forest, leaving their undead to lag behind at a slower pace. None pursued them.

Elliot began to struggle once more as his air supply continued to dwindle, and his only chance at escape ran away from him.

Sol sighed in relief before turning to Asgar and asking. "How much of a head start are you going to give them before you let Elliot go?"

Asgar snorted. "I am not letting Elliot go."

Sol's brow furrowed. "I don't think we can keep him, prisoner, effectively, Asgar."

The Drakon nodded. "I agree."

Sol looked confused for a moment, but it quickly shifted into a pained and resigned look. His eyes darted between Asgar, Elliot, and the bodies surrounding them.

"He would be too dangerous for us to let go, wouldn't he." Sol spoke, it wasn't a question.

"He's too dangerous for me to let go." Asgar replied.

Elliot pounded at the Drakon, striking at him with the base of his hands, and twisting to escape.

Asgar turned, hiding his prisoner that he was executing with his body in case any of the enemy clerics turned back and saw what he was doing.

Elliot was panicking all the more. He'd felt the emotions his clerics had given off when they'd run, heard their thoughts.

They knew he likely wouldn't survive and they were letting him die!

"I am sorry." He heard the Drakon’s voice. "I hate you, but I am sorry."

Elliot dropped his elbow into the Drakons chest as he saw spots.

Elliot felt the spell on the other Drakon finally give. He cursed himself for not ending it sooner, perhaps he could have used the Favor somehow if he had it now.

The Drakon continued. "I swore to use violence as a last resort."

The cleric kicked the Drakon as the second spell, the sickening effect, ended on its twin.

"I am saddened, but how often I feel I am forced to resort to it."

Elliot finally shifted to his true form, two more limbs springing from his side. He set about swinging them at the Drakon, gnawing at its scale-covered hand with his needle-like teeth.

"I am sorry I cannot make this quicker, If I had the use of my other arm, I would hold you till your spell ended, then end you with my axe."

Elliot's eyes began to dim, and his blows slowed and then stopped.

Asgar spoke in a voice that was both angry and terribly sad.

"Still, Death by axe, death by talons, death by suffocation. There's not much difference, is there?"

Elliot's final spell stopped, having devoured all the Favor he had.

"You die at the end, either way."

The sudden absence of pain from his own talons alerted the Drakon to the end of the spell. With a grunt, he hefted the cleric higher and snapped down on the doppelganger's neck with his maw.